


PRINCIPLES OF THE FAIR CHASE

by entanglement



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 19:44:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4317417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglement/pseuds/entanglement
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>fantasies abound</p>
            </blockquote>





	PRINCIPLES OF THE FAIR CHASE

*

  
THINGS TO CONSIDER:

1\. The look of terror in Jack's eyes when he realizes not only that Will has betrayed him, but also that the knife at his throat, through a Rube Goldberg machine of causes and effects, was guided there by his hand. Also, the proud look on Hannibal's face when he glances up to Will. Being seen for who he is must be incredibly pleasing, but seeing himself reflected in another must be fucking erotic.

2\. Abigail's calm face in dim light. It's early and there's not much to see out on the tarmac, but her eyes remain glued to the window until they've finished their ascent into the sky above Baltimore. When she glances towards Will, there's a look on her face like a caged animal.

3\. Dusty labels on bottles of French wine, Abigail and Hannibal dressed for the opera, beginner's Italian courses that Will can't quite get his mouth around: spiacente, non parlo italiano, etc., etc.

 

The alternate timelines and events within them are impossible to count. It's like living a life outside of himself, but somehow, it's better. It gets him through the process of watching his wound slowly form a thick, red scar that still somehow hurts so badly in the morning that he wakes up with his hand pressed over it. It gets him through the suspicious looks from the people that used to trust him to deliver the answers and the legal and literal nightmares of pretending to be Hannibal Lecter's best friend. Fuck, it just gets him through, even though he can feel only some parts of himself moving forward. 

He still doesn't know if those moving parts are sliding in or out of place, but what he does know is how is to make an engine run. 

He gets to work.

 

=

Things to Consider:

1\. Will's mouth around the tines of a fork. It's the silver, polished to a glow and it mirrors his face when he pulls it back clean and returns it to his plate. He's smiling, probably remembering how dinner was prepared. It's an unconventional way for a couple to bond, but they aren't a conventional couple, are they?

2\. Wait. How was dinner prepared? 

3\. Blood on Will's hands. The slight snap of something inside of his brain that can be seen by looking him in the eyes when Hannibal gently removes the bloody chef's knife from his hand. A smile soon slides over Will's lips, but it doesn't hide the vulnerability previously witnessed.

4\. Blood on Will's hands again, but this time it's his own blood. A drop of blood floods over his bottom lip, but Hannibal certainly isn't squeamish enough to avoid one last kiss. 

 

Bedelia is late back from the market again, but that's not unusual. Each moment she spends alone must be something like an identity crisis. Is this who she wanted to be at this very moment? Is this who she wants to continue to be? She probably spends the late afternoon wandering, feeling the weight of the ingredients in the bag at her side and what they'll contribute to later on. Hannibal doesn't mind terribly because it means time alone to daydream over sketches and compositions that never end up finished. There's always a better occupation for his mind.

 

+

Each time Bella's rasping cough sounds from the bedroom upstairs, Jack cringes. Alana can't help cringing as well in empathy for the both of them, because it's not that easy to differentiate between a cough and what might be a death rattle. It's probably incredibly selfish to think of time around Jack's wife being like sitting beside a time bomb of grief, so Alana hides her grimace behind her coffee cup when she brings it to her lips for a sip. At least with a time bomb, you can see the numbers count down to zero.

"He's taken from me too, you know. Time," Jack says.

"At least you don't have a new fashion accessory," Alana says, nodding to her cane resting against the table. "Besides, you have plenty of time now to look after her."

"It's a forced leave, Alana. My entire body of work is being scrutinized to make sure I wasn't in cahoots with Hannibal Lecter. Another thing he's taken from me."

Alana considers the bitter look on Jack's face for a moment. She takes another sip from her cup and diverts her eyes to her phone, pretending to check for messages or the time or whatever excuse that will divert her eyes long enough for Jack to surface from his revenge fantasy. He's trapped here and he knows it, but there's nothing else to do but wait for Bella's last rasping breath. It doesnt take long before he clears his throat and stands to put his still full cup in the sink.

"Bella needs her medicine soon," Jack says, a polite way of telling Alana to leave.

"Take care of Bella. Don't worry more than you have to about what's happened, especially to Will Graham."

 

  
]

Alana doesn't seem that impressed by the hunk of dusty, greasy metal she finds Will hunched over one morning when she comes to visit. Her visits are few and far between these days and the sense that her empathy is straining with each awkward conversation becomes more and more apparent as time drags on. At least this time, she has Applesauce with her and the smile on her face as she slides from the seat of her car and onto the snow covered gravel of Will's driveway looks more genuine than any he's seen since what happened.

"She's really been my closest friend through this," she says as she watches Applesauce dart off towards the other dogs once she's free of her leash. 

"It's easier to see the better side of things with them around," Will replies. His attention is already on the workbench again and he doesn't look up as Alana enters the garage. He's lying. They both know he's lying.

"I just came to tell you that we're leaving next week. Thankfully my career isn't totally shot and they actually wanted me for a teaching position out in California." She hesitates before continuing, "You should consider leaving as soon as you can too."

Will finally looks up to glance back at Alana and her hand awkwardly twists around the handle of her cane when she sees his face. It's obvious that meeting his gaze conjures up a mixture of bad memories and old assumptions that sat too long and became set in stains on her concept of him. He spares her and turns away again.

"I am."

"Revenge is a waste, Will. It's just more lost time. You've already lost enough, haven't you?"

 

  
/

Kiss or kill? Kiss or kill? Kiss or kill?

It's a cold, cloudy day when Will's boat leaves the marina and Will suspects it'll only get colder out at sea when the first gust of freezing air whips against his face.

 

Hannibal is alive somewhere, paying his usual tributes to death. The great inevitability. He'd probably welcome his own if it were at least mildly entertaining.

 

 

 

On the 46th night at sea, Will dreams he's cutting Bedelia DuMaurier's throat with a familiar curved blade. She's wearing a champagne colored dress and the light in Hannibal's apartment is a deep amber glow, but the blood is still bright red when it spills out of her. Hannibal watches, of course, and after, he gently guides the knife from Will's hand, making sure to lightly run his fingertips over Will's knuckles on the way to his palm and then--

 

 

 

  
\--and then--

 

 

 

  
He wakes to the sound of water softly lapping at the boat just before dawn.  
Thank god for that.

 

 

 

 

  
He dreams the same dream over and over with no variation and the same ending right up until he reaches his destination. It's still fresh in his mind as he ties the boat to the docks and continues onward.

Jack isn't far behind.

 

 

Neither is Mason Verger.


End file.
